


Once Upon a Time in Azeroth

by Buntheridon



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, Bittersweet, Closeted Character, Cowboys, Desperation, Drinking, Gen, Genre-Typical Violence, M/M, Manly Men Being Manly, Mildly Dubious Consent, Out of the closet, Pre-World of Warcraft, Sexual Tension, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Western, all the wonderful western cliches, brokeback mountain yo, cocks, fine ok there will be sex, genre-typical homophobia, hallucinogenic drug misuse, handjobs, mild sexual humiliation, more like bachelor in a bind lol, not that detailed or harsh tho, shaw is a damsel in distress, there will be sex I think, vanilla wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22067182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buntheridon/pseuds/Buntheridon
Summary: A Spaghetti Western AU in early/pre-Vanilla era with post-Cataclysm places and NPCs (I mean, what was there in Badlands in Vanilla except that one lost orc? xD). Varian Wrynn is the king and Edwin VanCleef and his Defias are starting to be active. Mathias Shaw, the sheriff of Stormwind, sets off on a manhunt. Enter Nathanos, a mysterious third player with his own agenda. Can you spot the good, the bad and the ugly? :P Romantic/sexual feelings and maybe a bit of smut but not as much as is usual for me xD
Relationships: Mathias Shaw/Edwin VanCleef, Mathias Shaw/Nathanos Blightcaller
Comments: 28
Kudos: 18





	1. Goodbye, Redridge

The dry, hot desert air burned his parched throat when he came to with a gasp. The sand in his mouth made him cough violently. How long had he been passed out? He was lying awkwardly face down in the middle of nowhere, no rocks, no buildings, not even a cactus to shield him from the scorching light. Mathias Shaw tried to move but a piercing pain shot through his arms. His wrists were tied behind his back and his legs ached like hell. The blazing late afternoon sun over Badlands was equally merciless to any being that couldn’t find shelter.

Did that son of a bitch just leave him here to die? And he almost had felt sympathy for the bastard. 

Yeah, sympathy. Right.

*****

Redridge felt like the last haven of civilization when he stared through the broken, burned down Blackrock Pass gates. Everything after that point seemed either dead, molten or lethal. The earth was dry and barren, the only sounds of any life were the carrion birds circling above. There must be something they expect to eat so there’s still hope to meet another living being, Mathias Shaw, the newly appointed sheriff of Stormwind, tried to see the positive side of things while riding through the hostile lands as fast as he could ask of his horse without exhausting it. As instructed he stopped at Morgan’s Vigil, let the animal rest and eat for some hours before continuing his journey. There would be no friendly places in a long while after this. 

The whole business felt grim, complicated and uncomfortable. King Varian Wrynn himself had ordered him to investigate a series of incidents in the remote Alliance State of Badlands. It was supposedly somehow connected to the new Defias gang they kept hearing about in frightened whispers, and also to the sad and messy case of the Stonemasons Guild. The grief-ridden monarch had been most insistent on finding the culprit.

Passing the ancient Thaurissan ruins, lava pools, dry fields scattered with ogre and orc encampments Shaw wondered for the tenth time whether or not the king knew about his connection to the man he was supposed to capture. Was that the reason he was given this post in the first place or was it really because of his fast rising in the ranks of Stormwind’s spies and assassins? As a skilled spy he imagined he would have heard if the king was aware of that particular time in his past, but you never knew anything for certain, did you? On some level he felt honored and proud, but mostly he was miserable about the turn of events.

Edwin VanCleef was accused of murdering the queen even though it obviously hadn’t been planned and he wasn’t even among the rioters that day. But he was the leader of the disbanded Stonemasons and therefore responsible in the eyes of the kingdom’s laws.

Steering his mare up the ramp that lead to the dreaded Blackrock Mountain Shaw tried to focus on the surroundings with all his senses alert. Black dragons had been sighted here in recent years. Orc and ogre gangs robbed and killed people weekly. Going through the dwarven made fortress, albeit abandoned years and years ago, was risky, but it was the only way to reach his destination – or the fastest, at least. The House of Nobles paid his expenses but they also wanted results within two weeks. It was impossible to get the toffs to understand any realities outside their comfortable gilded halls so he had just nodded and made a note to not spend any more than he needed for survival. 

It was always the ordinary folk that suffered most in the schemes of the higher-ups, he thought, bitterness and guilt battling against his pride for his nation. He had had it well, better than most with the same background. The same House of Nobles that now employed him had refused to pay the Stonemasons for rebuilding their city – every human’s beloved capital city – and that had cost the peace inside it. The rioters hadn’t meant to hurt the queen, Shaw was sure of it. Everyone adored Tiffin, especially after seeing the golden-haired heir to the throne she had given birth to. She had been a gentle soul and even the most downtrodden of the poor liked her. The riots were a natural reaction to the unfair political decision and the queen’s death had been a tragic side-effect.

Be that as it may Mathias Shaw was now carrying orders to kill his old friend.

After entering through the impressive doorway he found himself inside a huge lava chamber with massive dangling chains holding a piece of rock the size of a small hill afloat in the center. What on Azeroth was that about, then? Luckily the latest reports were true and there were no living souls on the huge underground – or under-mountain – highway. The sheriff rode through silently and swiftly, eager to get out of the eerie place.

On the other side the similarly huge doors to Searing Gorge had been left ajar for ages for the most daring travellers to go through. After riding east for most of the day trying to avoid Dark Iron forces and the occasional lavasaur Mathias Shaw reached the border of Badlands, a minor passageway leading to the adjacent State. The scenery didn’t really change much on the other side except it got more red and here he encountered the first plant he’d seen all day: dry cacti decorated the otherwise arid zone. The blazing sun that ruled this area after the dark clouds covering the Gorge forced him to wear the wide-brimmed hat he had been persuaded to buy at Morgan’s – a good thing he had. The fauna was different here: he had to shoot an attacking stalker cat and later gallop away from three coyotes that were probably as hungry as he was when he finally found his destination. The Alliance camp in Dragon’s Mouth was where he would spend one night and assess the situation. 

His behind was aching after a whole day in the saddle and he was very relieved to step down from his horse. A dark bearded human man in Stormwind colors approached him when he was tying his horse at the trough.

“Welcome to Badlands, sheriff. I got your letter yesterday. Don’t make yourself too comfortable here, the place really has earned its name. I am Terrance Storm, at your service.” He sounded jovial enough but also tired in the sense of someone in need of a year long vacation. He had probably said that line to hundreds of travellers, Shaw mused, extending his hand in the custom greeting that showed he had no dagger in at least one of his hands. 

“Mathias Shaw. I only need a place to sleep for tonight. I’ll be heading to Fuselight on the morrow. The House of Wrynn send their greetings and gratitude for your prolonged service here.” He took down the saddle bags and gave the man an envelope closed with the royal seal.

The sun, red as a fresh wound, was setting in the horizon and the coyotes howled in the distance when the sheriff of Stormwind settled on a rough mattress in a small tent. Around him were a dozen or so other tents all surrounded by the camp’s first shift of night watch. Exhausted, he drifted off in restless sleep.

He dreamed of Edwin, again. 


	2. Badlands

The sunrise woke him up stiff and aching in all possible ways. The boner wasn’t that unusual for the mornings but this was because of _that_ _dream_ again _._ Mathias Shaw considered relieving himself before stepping out of the tent that was now moist and uncomfortable. But he couldn’t do that without the lingering dream images of his old friend – who probably didn’t consider them friends anymore – filling his mind during the process and that would be just wrong. He mostly avoided thinking about the whole can of worms because it made him squirm and doubt his convictions. Not to mention his sexuality, but that bit was half subconscious anyway. 

He again wished he could have stood by Edwin’s side but his official loyalties were with the kingdom and as much as it vexed him he had to choose. And it wasn’t like they were keeping contact these days; they had not really met after their youth. Sure Shaw had kept him under observation but the closest they had gotten to meeting as adults had been a sighting across a field in Westfall that one time. They had both recognized the other and had even nodded slightly. The memory of it was somehow more sweet than bitter.

It didn’t require any higher level wizardry to spot the timing between the disbanding of the Stonemasons and the appearance of the Defias Brotherhood. Resorting to crime was the last thing that sealed Edwin’s detachment from the society but on some level Shaw still understood him. 

Every time he had the dream he worried he had chosen wrong after all. The guilt always lasted throughout the day even if the erotic sensations lessened. His wife had thought him mad for doubting his career choices and after a few rejections from her he stopped talking about his feelings. Of course he’d kept silent about the explicit parts of the dream and she didn’t really know what it was he did at work – highly classified – so it wasn’t truly a heart-to-heart to begin with. After the riots and the scandal of the royal death made him more irritable than before they soon divorced in mutual agreement and with surprisingly mild emotions. It had been a relief for both of them.

Shaw waited for the stiffness to abate before crouching out of the small tent to have a pee behind a man-sized rock. He stretched his arms and neck muscles and wished he could shave. The red stubble itched somewhat and his moustaches must be a mess by now, but he’d have to wait to find an inn or some such sign of civilization. It would be in the same town he was tasked to shoot his friend if the rumors proved to be true.

Terrance Storm met him in the breakfast table that was set under a canvas shelter outside. Shaw chewed on the dried meat and berries that were the only thing on the menu and nodded to the other man. 

“So, about the king’s letter. Indeed there have been sightings of a dark figure who hides his face and comes and goes as he wishes. Human male, about your height, has been asking around about an ancient treasure. Some gobbos have been killed in mysterious circumstances. My informant wasn’t too specific so I don’t have much more to tell. Sometimes the man has a group with him, sometimes he’s alone. She calls him “The Ugly” but that’s just because she hasn’t seen his face, I think. You better talk to her yourself when you arrive there, sheriff. Her name’s Sally Gearwell. Hope the king gave you enough gold for bribes.” 

“He didn’t but I’ll manage. Show me the best way to get there alive and I’m out of your hair.”

“The dwarven expedition is heading that way right about now. Your best chance is to group with them. Fuselight isn’t far from their archaeology camp.”

“Good man. You have my thanks.”

He travelled in the company of the jovial albeit short, stout and uninhibitedly crude humored archaeologists of the Explorer’s League until reaching Dustwing Dig. After that, as advised, he led his horse by the bridles to avoid the nearby ogres spotting him. The pathway up the mountainside was lit with goblin signs full of blinking lamps and all the other weirdness the tinkering race always seemed to add to anything they made.

A forgotten pressing sensation in his lower stomach – he hadn’t felt that particular ache since his teens – he approached the town center. Was he here now? Might he even see his arrival from some hiding place? 

Fuselight was set on a dry flat top of a hill. Billy goats roamed the edges of the cliffs among cacti and resilient tufts of grass. The town consisted of round single-storey stone buildings that surrounded the center plaza. There were powder kegs and travelling rockets outside every hut – not a good place to have a sudden shooting incident. Shaw left his horse tied at the visitor’s park and lit a cigar despite the explosive surroundings, shrugging to himself. He headed towards the inn where his informant should be. The building looked more like an oversized barn or a warehouse than a hotel but it would have to do.

The goblins were a neutral race, minding their own money-grubbing business and dealing with both the Alliance and the Horde if they saw an advantage to it. Both factions used their ingenious machines and at the same time thought the goblins were beneath them, some even called them ‘a lower race’. Shaw had always tried to be a better man in regard to that. Even if he too had his prejudices he would never use the slur ‘gobbo’. Immigrants or not, everyone should be judged based on their actions, not their looks or origins.

“Hello there, handsome. Are you looking for a bed to lay your weary head?” The innkeeper had a broad smile, blue ponytails and a blue frock.

The sheriff took off his hat and pressed it against his chest, nodding slightly, answering the goblin’s smile. “Good day, madam. Indeed I would like a room for some nights. Maybe even for a week, depending on my business. And I’m also looking for someone.”

“I have one single room available, unfortunately not with a view over the mountains. Three days’ fee in advance, that’ll be three gold. That alright, luv? Who you looking for?” She handed him the room key and took his coin.

“A Miss Gearwell.”

“That would be me, gorgeous. Where do you hail from?” She winked at him conspiratorially, gesturing for him to follow as she walked outside towards a smaller building across. 

“Stormwind, ma’am. Sheriff Mathias Shaw, at your service.”

“Sshh, don’t talk so loud, constable. There are ears everywhere looking to make a buck on gossip.” She pushed in the swinging tavern doors and walked right to the bar like she owned the place. Shaw grimaced at the tacky pineapple wallpapers and dead fish decorations that were supposed to liven the place up. Fish, in the middle of a desert? Well, at least it’s a novelty.

As it turned out, she did own the place. “Get out, boys. It’s too early to get smashed.”

“But Salleeehhh, it’s still late night for me,” said a drunken male goblin half dozing on the bar counter. The other guy obeyed wobbling towards the door.

“Out, now, Tuco. You can return when the sun sets again.” She paused, then added yelling after him, “And after you’ve paid your tab!”

Once alone with the newly arrived sheriff she poured them both ale and showed him a seat.

“Now, darling, what was it you needed to know?”

“I’m investigating the two murders that took place here some weeks ago. We believe it has something to do with a… renegade the king of Stormwind wants me to catch. I have an old drawing of him here, but he’s in his thirties now.” He placed the picture on the table. Sally studied it for a moment before speaking.

“Mmmyeaah, one of them could be him. The eyes look the same. But see, he wears a red bandana over his mouth and nose so he might be someone way uglier. This chap is a looker indeed,” she grinned. “I don’t know if Mr. Storm memorized my info well enough, he might have been too busy staring at my boobs to listen to all the details. Because, see, there are _two_ new guys who have disturbed our relative peace here during these last two weeks.”

“Really? Tell me about the other one, then.”

“I call him Demon Eyes. He’s dark like this one, a bit taller, wears a hood and a black hat over his face but sometimes you see a flash of red underneath. _He’s_ the one that killed our poor bruisers after posing as a sergeant of some sort and asking around about a jewel or a stone or something like that. Things got heated and here we are, two funerals later. He’s a wanted man now, dead or alive. Or undead, whatever. He’s always surrounded by his gang of elven sharpshooters.”

“I’m not sure if my jurisdiction covers him, but I will have to look into the matter in any case, to verify which crimes were done by VanCleef - if any.”

“The Ugly also asked a bunch of questions about the nearby digsites but as far as I know he hasn’t committed crimes here. Yet.”

Shaw swallowed the urge to correct her nickname for Edwin and realized a sudden relief washing over him. _If he has behaved well here, I might not have a reason to demand his capture. Maybe._

Or he might be able to fail at finding him altogether.

He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved because he wanted to let Edwin walk free ...or because he dreaded meeting him face to face after all these years. He stubbed out his cigar into an obsidium ashtray, tipped his hat to Sally and left for his room.


	3. Fuselight-by-the-Sea

Some weeks earlier a suspicious figure of a man had disembarked on the pier of Fuselight-by-the-Sea. The goblins paid no mind as long as they were paid in gold, so the weary human hiding his face in a red piece of cloth was let through with no quarrels or questions whatsoever.

Edwin VanCleef marched to the small drinking establishment there and downed a few dwarven ales to soothe and nourish his tired body and still agitated mind. Riding through Deadwind Pass like a madman chased by Stormwind’s finest only to end up in the crocolisk and orc infested Swamp was depressing enough not to mention he was forced to leave his horse at Bogpaddle as the boat he managed to haggle off a goblin was too small for it. At least he got enough money for it to live for a week or two here. The greedy little greenskins knew how to make business on other people’s misfortune. 

He could have gone somewhere else, anywhere the boats would take him, but he had a mission. Before the riots he had come across a rumor about a treasure being hidden here in the desert. After they were denied their due payment for the rebuilding of the human capital city he had started to look for other ways to pay his men and women himself, and some of his guildies were skilled in spying and finding out information. They should start practicing more of that and other clandestine skills now that they were banished from Elwynn and seen as criminals by their own people. When he was forced to change the scenery fast in any case, he decided to use the opportunity to follow the lead on the treasure.

In Bogpaddle he heard some goblins mention ‘another mystery human guy’ going through there to Badlands just two days prior, also in search of some jewels. Without a bribe he didn’t get much more out of the guys but it did confirm he had chosen the right destination. He decided to try and find the other man.

He grunted at the bartender for attention and scraped a match against the side of his boot to light a cigarette. 

“Are there any inns here, any place I could crash for some time?”

“Well, there’s the economic option, a shack full of merchandise and then we have the three star barn we keep the beer in. What I’m saying is it’s nicer up there in the main town. You going there anyway, aren’t ya? No-one ever wants to stay here, this is a pass-through-shithole, not a town,” he laughed.

“I don’t care. I’ll take anything you got. The cheaper the better.” Edwin didn’t want to settle in the town above that was the center of the whole area. It was better to lay low for a while.

The next day, back aching for sleeping on storage sacks in a shed – the gobbo hadn’t been kidding – he ventured up the path to where he thought he’d find an elevator or a carved road up the mountainside. Instead there was this hideous whirly flashing machine that turned out to be a teleporter up. The cliff there was nearly vertical. He stopped a worker who was about to step into the contraption.

“Excuse me. Did a human male go past this place some nights ago?”

“It’s your luck you humans are a rare spawn around here, otherwise I wouldn’t know a thing. How much you paying?”

“Not a thing, you just answered me. Is there really no other way to Fuselight than this… this… thing?” 

“Of course there is, cowboy. You can tame one of the dragons and fly up.” He went through, laughing out loud maliciously until disappearing from the platform. Edwin gritted his teeth and braced himself for the dissolution of every cell and fiber and spirit particle in him, and stepped after him. It was a very unpleasant feeling indeed and it left him slightly dizzy but he felt more or less like himself once he opened his eyes again and saw the red dry desert before him. _Wouldn’t mind if the machine took some of my memories away,_ he thought bitterly.

He needed a horse. And one of those wide brimmed hats everyone was wearing to shield their eyes from the scorching sun.

The goblin in charge of the stables in Fuselight seemed suspicious of his mask but nonetheless took his coin for the animal. 

“That’s for this week. Remember, you break it, you buy it, long-legs.”

“Aren’t we all too tall for you, sweetie?”

In the bar he ordered lunch, the first solid, warm food since he left his hometown – for good. The barkeep kept flirting at him and even asked him to ‘drop the veil’ once. His angry glare seemed to silence her for a moment. He put his new hat on just to spite her when he had to pull down the bandana to eat.

A chill ran down his spine when someone entered the establishment. The person had a sort of an aura of danger and death around him and VanCleef tried to look uninterested when he turned to check who the hell could possess such presence.

A tall dark figure was standing in the doorway flanked by two slim companions. The man was wearing a long leather coat that might have been brown once but now looked like someone had boiled, baked and buried it after dipping it into tar. He had a hood _and_ a wide brimmed hat on – now there’s a style worth imitating – and he kept his head bowed, hiding his face. His hands were by his hips, near the big revolvers he didn’t even try to conceal. Edwin nodded at him like was the custom in public houses and finished his food trying to stay calm. Was the man one of the dreaded undead? Or a powerful necromancer? He must be the other one looking for the treasure. He put down his fork and pulled the cloth back over his mouth and nose.

“Good day sir, ladies. Could you stop blocking the only way in here, it ruins the business. An’ no shooting inside the building or anywhere in the town, there’s a love.”

Grunting in the way of an agreement the ominous figure nodded to his entourage and the other two stepped outside. They had long hair and dark clothes too but they were elven in appearance. The man walked to the bar right beside VanCleef and ordered a whiskey, taking it to a table in the middle of the room. The air was thick with anticipation, like he wanted someone to come poke him so he could kill them there and then.

Edwin weighed up his chances at staying among the living if he went and talked to the guy. While he sat there pondering the distinct sound of harmonica surprised him. The dark man played a sad tune, almost like a funeral lament.

“That’s something else after all the silly tavern songs,” Edwin opened the discourse, trying to sound both polite and aloof. 

“I don’t really go for cheerful these days,” answered the stranger. His voice was deep and hoarse and made the stonemason think of sarcophaguses opening in stone mausoleums and deep, deep underground. He had no idea how or why a vision so specific had popped in his head.

“Oh, me neither. That’s why I liked it.”

“Barkeep. A glass of whiskey for the gentleman there.” Sally poured one and pushed the glass to VanCleef. He nodded and took it as an invitation, sitting at the newcomer’s table his back towards the bar. 

“Stiff drinks this early? Must have been one hell of a night.”

“It keeps me warm,” grunted the man and ignored the incredulous chuckle from Edwin who was sweating like a pig in his leather jacket and jeans. The heat was nearly intolerable but he’d rather suffer it than let anyone see him in cloth gear. A real man wears no robes. 

The dark stranger lifted his head and Edwin could see his face for the first time. He looked both ancient and around thirty-five, however that was possible – his skin was eerily grey but his beard and hair were not. He had no sweat on his face. And his eyes – the stonemason suppressed a shudder for he didn’t want the other to see his fear or discomfort. He wanted the man to trust him. 

Red eyes. That meant he was either a demon or an undead. But he was well built, not at all withered like the skeletal undead should be and he spoke Common with no traces of an accent. VanCleef pushed the guilt about fraternizing with an enemy aside. He didn’t care anymore if this man was part of the Horde. His own faction leader had abandoned him, so why would he owe them any loyalties?

“There are two reasons humans come to these parts, cowboy. They are either on the run from something or they are after the Titan relics. Which one are you?”

The way he said ‘humans’ chilled Edwin to the core but he also found kinship in it. He’d started to hear the same tone in his own thoughts towards the Stormwind folk and especially towards Varian Wrynn. He pulled his bandana down slowly making it register as a sign of trust and took a swig of the burning liquid. 

“I think I fit both categories. How about you?”

“I’m the latter. But I’m looking for a specific item, not just any treasure to fill my fantasies of wealth.”

“Oh, believe me, my treasure hunt is pure business and no pleasure. I have responsibilities to… my people. Responsibilities my own leader refused to fill.” He had sensed bitterness in the dark man’s demeanor and calculated they’d find some common ground if he revealed something of himself. They might even join forces if the red-eyed bastard wasn’t too murderous. “Name’s VanCleef. Edwin. Stonemason.” He extended his hand over the table in greeting.

The other stared at it and then chuckled, shrugging, and shook it. His hand was cold like that of a corpse but Edwin kept his cool.

“Nathanos ...Marris. Ranger.” He lowered his voice and let the flame in his eyes drill into his opponent. “Is that the reason you’ve been asking around about me, then? To follow me to a treasure and try to snatch it?” His voice turned menacing and he didn’t let go of the hand, slowly crushing it in his grip. 

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same. It’s nothing personal.” VanCleef tried not to yell but the man had inhuman strength and he was starting to fear for his bones. Nathanos pulled him closer staring straight into his eyes like reading his mind through them.

“My quest _is_ personal.”

“Boys, boys. As much as I enjoy watching the alpha sword play you need to take it outside, otherwise you’ll end up ruining my lovely wallpaper. I’ve seen how these things go.”

They kept their stare and Nathanos didn’t let go. A small grin was creeping on his dry, dead lips as he watched the human struggle.

 _“I said, out!”_ Sally repeated with emphasis. For a small lady she was surprisingly fearless.

“You know it’s... bad luck to upset your... hostess,” Edwin managed between his clenched teeth.

“Mmm. I suppose you have a point.” He loosened his handshake and sat back on his chair, nodding at Ms. Gearwell and taking a sip of his whiskey like nothing unusual had happened, smug as a fucker. “What was it you complained about your boss failing you?”

Edwin glared at him trying to move his fingers inconspicuously to check if there were any broken bones. He was glad he was left-handed and the greeting was usually done with the right. To injure one’s pistol hand would be suicide in these parts. The fingers seemed functional if a bit bruised. “What’s that to you?” He downed the rest of the offered drink and pulled his mask on.

“Aw, did I offend you, stonemason? Come on, tell me.”

“What should I tell you? That my king is a selfish fucker who doesn’t pay his people what is owed and then banishes them for protesting? I’ve been forsaken by my people unlawfully. The self-righteous lords can go drown for all I care.”

The mocking expression on the ranger’s face softened hearing that. _I knew we had something in common,_ Edwin thought triumphantly, although not sure if he wanted to recruit a wild card like that anymore. Or was it even him doing the recruiting?

“Sounds like a right bastard, that one.” 

“Yeah, and his army is full of obedient drooling poodles, I say. One day I’m a respected builder, the next day his soldiers hunt me like a fox. I didn’t do what they accuse me of, he just wanted a scapegoat. Fortunately building castles isn’t the only thing I can do.” He tapped his side where his long daggers were sheathed. Nathanos raised one eyebrow of acknowledgement. 

“So, what you need is lots of gold to fix your sovereign’s debt, is it?”

“Indeed. And he’s not my sovereign anymore.” VanCleef spat on the floor and lit a cigarette. “You aren’t going to get in my way if I go and search the digsites, then?”

The ranger leaned his elbows on the table and came close to his face with that intimidating corpse grin of his. “No. But you might get in _my_ way, and I really don’t recommend that. Any necklace with three jewels is mine whether it was found by you or your late granny. I suggest you report any findings like that directly to me.” He drank the last drops from his glass and slammed it on the table declaring the end of the conversation. Edwin watched him walk out of the saloon like a king but he had a hunch the bugger was softer than he showed. Undead or not.

Their paths didn’t cross in the next few weeks, he was being careful and it seemed Mr. Demon Eyes preferred to work at night. He saw him and his elves a few times from afar and didn't approach them. Then one day there was a wanted poster in Fuselight with Nathanos’ face on it.

A few days later the sheriff arrived.


	4. Fuselight

Having slept slightly better than the previous night and after a morning shave and a wash Mathias Shaw felt almost fresh when he stepped out of the shoddy inn in Fuselight. He walked between the curious round cacti to the edge of the cliff behind the bar, peeked down towards the desert and thought he saw a dragon in the distance. He didn’t have much time to make sure what with the gloved hand pressed over his mouth and a pistol muzzle against his lower back.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the king’s lapdog.”

He would recognize that voice anywhere, anytime on a normal day. Today wasn’t one of those, today it threw him straight into forbidden fantasies having just heard it speak indecent things to him two nights ago in the recurring dream that always haunted him for days. It was rougher, deeper and had an ingrained bitterness to it that hadn’t been there in their youth, but it was unmistakably _him._

“Come to drag me back in chains, have you? Or do you have orders to outright eliminate me without so much as a fair hearing? I wouldn’t put it past you lot.”

Unable to speak Shaw shook his head and tried to turn but he was shoved face first against the wall of the saloon they were hiding behind. His new hat fell off in the struggle. VanCleef pressed himself against his back and the most inappropriate sensation flashed through his loins. He grunted.

“Eddie, wait.”

He felt the man behind him freeze for a moment and then his bent arm was released. Edwin took a step back, Mathias turned around and saw the familiar green eyes, so much like his own, stare at him in anger and slowly fading disbelief. The eyes were the only thing he could see of his face under the bandana and the hat, but it was enough. The pistol was still aimed at him but it didn’t even register – a wave of something old and warm almost made Shaw smile when the displaced stonemason pulled the cloth down from his face.

 _“Matt._ Well, isn’t this poetic? You sealing your betrayal in a very terminal manner. Did you volunteer?”

“No. I’m here to investigate the killings.” Edwin furrowed his dark brows and huffed incredulously. “Yes, _of course_ I’m after you too. Look. Here. I’m putting the badge away, alright? Everything’s unofficial now. I’m not on duty.” He removed the lion shaped Stormwind Sheriff’s badge from his chest and hid it in one of the pouches on his belt.

“Your gun and knives are state issued.”

“The daggers are my own. Still the same.” He was unable to suppress the tinge of nostalgia that crept in his voice and the other man heard it too well. They watched each other in silence and Mathias had an urge to just hug his old friend, to hell with the responsibilities, but Edwin still looked hurt and kind of dangerous. There was a scar across his cheek ending on his lower lip that looked just recently healed and the burn in his eyes wasn’t the enthusiasm that had filled him when they were young and eager to learn everything life had to offer whether it was swordplay, adventures or… love.

“Eddie, I’m… sorry.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I know the incident with the queen wasn’t your fault. It’s just very... complicated.”

“Not to me it isn’t. It’s a set up. Now they can pretend they _truly_ don’t owe us anything.”

“Uh. I realize that. And you didn’t kill those bruisers either, so…”

“Why on Azeroth would I? Do you think the fake regicide accusation isn’t enough for me?”

Shaw fished a pack of cigars from his utility belt, showing a brief sign of surrender and otherwise empty hands at the impatiently bobbing gun in front of him. He took one, put it between his teeth to be able to speak while searching for the matches. He glanced at the man before him from under his lashes.

“What are you doing here, Edd – Edwin?”

“Give me your gun, I’m bored of holding mine.”

“You know I’m deadlier with the daggers than I ever was with a pistol. And my hands are occupied now, see?” Defying the peril of being shot right there Shaw crouched to pick up his hat, brushed it lightly against his jacket like tidiness mattered at all in the circumstances and put it on his head. When he lit the cigar his hands weren’t shaking anymore. He’d found his way back to his inner discipline.

“You taught me well, old friend. I could defeat you anytime be it with any weapon or with my bare hands.” VanCleef sounded as confident as he always had. There was that one time, _that time,_ when their bare hand wrestling had ended up in them baring so much more. Mathias wondered if he was the only one of the two who remembered that. He tried not to think about it. They were adult men now.

“If you say so. It’s a tie, then.” He blew a ring of smoke towards the dark man, taunting. “Put that away. I said I’m off duty now and I mean it. You know I don’t play games.”

“Don’t you? And here I was applauding you for finally growing a pair and trying to trick me. That good faith of yours will get you killed one day, Shaw.” But he holstered the gun anyway, shrugging. He took a cigarette from his pocket and instead of using his matches stepped closer to Mathias. He snatched the cigar from the sheriff’s mouth and lit his own from its smoldering end, sucking in smoke, eyes never leaving his. The undertones of the gesture were making Shaw uncomfortable and his insides feel peculiar – was he just being too strung out and ridiculously sensitive due to meeting his friend after so many years? He took back his cigar and hesitated a second before putting it between his lips again. When he did Edwin grinned and he knew there was some sort of a power game afoot. He wasn’t going to lose any, overly sincere or not.

“Beer?”

“Why not. I haven’t had breakfast.”

They walked round the building and through the swinging doors. Shaw went in first to avoid any pointless squabble about that. Sally was cleaning the counter from last night’s filth, which meant but was not limited to dragging Tuco out from his legs. She grinned at the humans and Shaw kept the door open for her to shove the mumbling goblin out.

“Good morning, ma’am. He paid his tab, then?”

“Morning, redhead. Yeah, he did, and opened a new one immediately. Incorrigible knuckleheads the lot of them, but they pay my living, so I guess I shouldn’t complain much, eh? What can I get for you gentlemen? Heeyyy, you’re not at all bad looking, mister. The scar is actually kinda hot!”

VanCleef cursed under his breath for forgetting to hide his face but since the off-duty sheriff of his hometown already knew where he was it didn’t matter that much, did it? He saw Shaw was trying to hide a grin. _Hmmm._ He might be able to convince him to let him go – the bugger seemed to have a soft spot for him, which was very odd considering his unwavering loyalties to the crown. It was worth a try.

“Two ales, if you’d be so kind, Ms. Gearwell. Not the strong stuff, mind. It’s early.”

“Coming right up, handsome. And call me Sally, please.” She filled their mugs from the barrel and they sat at a table furthest from the bar to have some semblance of privacy. The goblin lady winked at Mathias. The renegade saw it and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I see.”

“What? I merely asked her about recent visitors. What did you expect with that mask of yours, that people would _not_ remember you?”

“Oh, never mind. Now, about that actual criminal. What are you going to do with him?”

“I will look into the matter but it’s probably the local officer’s business, not the capital’s.”

“There’s a price on his head. I’m going to try and pay my people their wages, you know, if the king won’t. Since you’re here why not help me catch him?”

“I don’t think I should interfere.” Mathias was very tempted to go with him just about anywhere and it boggled him.

“Oh, but you want to. It would be lawful and just and good, isn’t that your thing now?”

“Not when it might compromise my explicit orders, no.”

”Here in these bad lands the law is what you make it, city boy. I met the guy, he’s outside of anyone’s jurisdiction which makes him free for all to catch. I think he’s a member of the Horde.” 

“Indeed?” Shaw’s hand was around the mug but he hadn’t touched the drink yet. For some reason VanCleef’s eyes fell on the empty finger that would usually be adorned with the traditional wedding ring. _He might have removed it for safekeeping during the trip._

“How’s the missus?” He made sure to sound like the answer mattered to him.

“Not married to me anymore. Don’t know much beyond that.” He took a long swig and avoided the stonemason’s eyes until he could no more.

“Oh. Well now. I guess I should say I’m sorry?” And there it was what Mathias had dreaded without knowing it exactly: a flash of realization in his old friend’s eyes. 

Fortunately they were interrupted by the yelling and shooting from outside.


	5. Goodbye, Quel’thalas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathanos’ looks are the same as ingame today because Reasons; the timelines are all over the place i.e. I picked the most suitable moment from everyone’s history, twisted it and shoved it in this AU.

The dark ranger grit his teeth to suppress the tears that again tried to fill his red flaming eyes. The rocking of the ship seemed to make the living crew tired and some of them nauseous; he however was fine with that. He and his sharpshooter rangers stayed up all day, all night, tirelessly watching the horizon. This was the fourth day on the journey.

Most living beings assumed the undead were unfeeling and cold. This was only partially true. Some of them still experienced rage or sorrow, many were permanently depressed. Some kept holding on to the memories of motivations and emotions they had had in life to have at least something, some semblance of a meaning in the endless dark. Most chose a leader or a cause and followed that come what may because without a guiding star existence was pointless and soon after the madness would follow.

Nathanos Blightcaller – or Marris, as he still called himself when trying to stay undercover – had been like that until _she_ found him again. She had given him a purpose as her champion, something to be proud of, a feeling of belonging. And he had loved her as fiercely as an unbeating cold heart could ever love anyone.

And now she was gone. Forever. In his eyes the most beautiful creature that ever lived, the leader of the dark rangers, their queen Sylvanas Windrunner had been murdered by that traitorous prince – and again the wretched emotions filled his chest. He was damned if he let his troops see any signs of weakness in him. 

He knew they missed her too – if such an understatement was even allowed. But he had donned the mantle of the leader thus he had to give _them_ a purpose and try to forget his own emptiness.

The cursed death knight would suffer for this. Nathanos had sworn it regardless of the danger, regardless of the possibility that the attempt alone could be the last thing he ever did. He didn’t care. He’d chosen the revenge as the last beacon in the pitch dark that was his life now, to prolong the torment for a few moments more for the sake of her honor and memory. It would be his epitaph for her: Arthas’ head on a spike.

After that task was fulfilled he could finally let go.

The talisman he was after should give him enough power to succeed in the suicidal plan. Anything titan-made was strong enough to counter the plague or the frost magic, and of all the artifacts on Azeroth this particular piece of jewelry was the easiest to obtain.

Finally on the fifth night of the journey the ship docked at the insignificant and usefully neutral goblin town. He and his dark rangers lead their thin, eerily glowing horses ashore. The animals were barely alive yet strong and fast. They rode up to the teleporter straight away, forcing the analysts and engineers to dive out of their way.

Who needed a good reputation when you had the power to annihilate any living being that was stupid enough to face him without an army? Nathanos vaguely realized he might be acting recklessly but that was the thing – long term plans had ceased to matter. All he wanted was that necklace and he’d be gone from these dry, barren, unbearably sunny lands.

For a week they asked around, sometimes using force, sometimes mere intimidation was enough to make the locals talk. What made the task complicated was the Horde presence in Badlands in the form of a group of Sin’dorei archaeologists. He was in the mood for killing just about anyone but becoming hostile with his own, albeit soon former, faction would cause so much commotion that it might hinder his plans. So he had to play nice and even spend some time in their camp.

The likeness of the female elves to his lost love was pure agony to tolerate. The last thing he wanted was to remember his old life as a human. The past could go to hell and leave him be.

And yet, the blue locket from those days was his most treasured possession.

Some days after the hassle about the two dead goblins he had to return to Fuselight proper regardless of the price on his head. They could bloody well try to sever it from his undead corpse if they liked. There was a rumor that a goblin named Tuco might have information about one of the gems.

“Stay alert, they are hunting us now. This guy we’re after spends his sorry life in the tavern, let’s head there.” The sharpshooters nodded in unison under their dark hoods.

But it wasn’t easy to be an outlaw. As soon as his skeletal horse stepped on the town plateau the goblins started yelling and running around like Stranglethorn monkeys. Nathanos grabbed the nearest one by the collar and lifted him in the air until their eyes were level. The goblin kicked his feet frantically but in vain. The ranger’s gravelly voice echoed like empty tombs and haunted ruins and his red eyes under the wide brim were glowing with anger. The dark magic he let seep from his fingers made the goblin choke slowly.

“Call your buddies off or we’ll kill everyone here. I only need to talk to one person and then we’ll be gone.”

He tossed the poor bruiser on the dry sand and he darted off like a rocket. The ruckus had attracted too many eyewitnesses for the dark ranger’s liking and he considered abandoning the mission for now and returning at night, stealthed and silent.

A bullet whistled towards him. He ducked his head instinctively and with minimal effort. It almost looked like the shot had missed on purpose but had he stayed immobile it would have hit him straight on the forehead. Whoever the shooter was they were damn good. He scoured through the people in the center plaza landing his eyes on a familiar looking dark-haired human in leathers and jeans in front of the saloon.

 _Oh, it’s the turncoat treasure hunter,_ he grinned without joy. _I had hoped for an excuse to end his useless existence._ He heard the man speak to another human beside him, a redheaded tenderfoot so obviously in the service of one law enforcement or another it was ridiculous.

_“He’s a wanted man. I want that reward!”_

VanCleef aimed and fired another shot, again seemingly missing the elusive target. The Demon Eyes fixed his gaze on him and a foreboding chill ran down his spine. He knew he was done for and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Shaw yelped in alarm but seemed to realize the same as him. Aggrieved and disappointed he let his arms fall bracing himself for the brief pain and the possible guilt-ridden afterlife. 

No gunman alive was as fast as Nathanos Blightcaller was – his movements were a blur when his bone-grip revolvers danced shooting meticulously until a wooden beam of the saloon roof above the two men broke off and crashed on top of them. They heard the dark ranger laugh shortly.

“There are two types of people, stonemason. Those who can shoot and those who get buried. Keep that in mind. Next time I won’t spare your sorry life.”

When Shaw and VanCleef got up and dusted off their leather gear the enemies were gone. 

“What a show-off,” Edwin grumbled.

“Yeah. Nothing like you at all.”

“Oh, shut up, goody-two-shoes. Are you coming with me or not?”

“Fine, if you won’t drop the case. I guess I can explain this in my report somehow.”

After all, that ranger looked remotely familiar. He was probably a member of the Horde thus it was – broadly speaking – Stormwind’s business to uphold peace even this far from Elwynn. And he wouldn’t want to let Edwin go alone. It was definitely too dangerous.

 _So I won’t lose sight of my possible captive,_ he reasoned.


	6. Dustbowl

The two men rode fast through the dry, scorched plains of Dustbowl. Shaw wasn’t at all sure they were heading in the right direction but he followed VanCleef in silence. The sun was beginning to rise to the zenith making the heat more annoying by the minute. The wide-brimmed hats helped keep their faces in the shade but otherwise it was a slow torture they just had to start getting used to. 

Shaw didn’t care whether they caught the outlaw or not. The Forsaken were known to be conniving and merciless, dealing with them was best left to the armies and soldiers. What mattered to him was tagging along with his old friend, maybe attempting to properly apologize and make up. An unlikely outcome seeing the burning determination on Edwin’s features – those that he could see from under the brim and the scarf. The renegade only seemed to care about his own mission.

After an hour westward they stopped, having not seen a soul unless you counted the eager buzzards overhead. A plant resembling a palm tree but with less life and joy – and leaves – served as their camp, blessing them with a minimal shadow to rest in. VanCleef sat on the ground, pulled the mask down and took a long sip off his hip flask. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve he offered it to the sheriff. 

“I can’t see a way to find him, Edwin. There are no tracks on the sand and those undead horses seemed faster than lightning.” He drank, a flashback to their youth tormenting him again. How peculiar it was, the mere proximity of this man was making him both calm and high-strung. His constant loneliness was somehow healed, his dormant urges however were making their way to the surface. He handed the flask back, suppressing the impulse to linger in the brief touch of their fingers.

”You know, Bazil Thredd never said a word – we did try.”

“Indeed? How is he?”

“He... died in prison.” Maybe hearing this would encourage the stonemason to just disappear and find a new life – and abandon the obvious fantasies of revenge. That way he would at least stay alive.

Edwin spat on the ground. “I don’t want to hear another word.” Without warning he jumped on Shaw and they tumbled to the ground, the sheriff yelling in surprise – oh but he should have seen this coming. It was over faster than expected. VanCleef now held both their guns but not aimed at him this time.

“Let’s see if you can still hold your own against me, _Matt.”_ He placed the pistols in his saddle bag and unsheathed his daggers. The way he said the pet name made Shaw shiver, like the danger he was in didn’t only concern his life and whether or not he got to keep it. They’d sparred endlessly as kids, as teenagers – he had won less the older they got. But they knew each other’s instinctual moves and tricks by heart. Mathias drew his knives slowly, watching the dark haired renegade intensely. 

“Why? None of this is my fault and you know it. I don’t call the shots. Kind of petty to take it out on me.”

“Yes, yes, you’re only following orders like a clingy pet. How is that proper behaviour for an honorable man?” His voice was dripping contempt and bitterness as he attacked without any more foreplay. Shaw dodged, easily, and they fell into step, circling each other like tigers in a ring, blades flashing in the bright sun. They were in good shape both of them, men in their prime, likewise deadly and subtle. 

“You and I seem to have very different definitions of honor.”

Shaw wondered fleetingly where and with whom the other man had been training, as there were some new techniques, some surprises in his movements he didn’t know to anticipate. Once VanCleef’s dagger nicked his arm, cutting through the leather, breaking his skin superficially. He jumped back and added the new information into his memory.

Their dance continued with the occasional attack and retreat until Shaw started slowing down. Was it the sun or something else, he wasn’t sure, but he felt fatigued and drowsy. His movements felt like trying to fight underwater, delayed and off target, and he frowned seeing peculiar pink and purple shades swirling around his opponent. For some reason he wasn’t panicking, he just felt like fighting wasn’t that important anymore. 

VanCleef had stopped attacking, he just stood there watching his old friend with a malicious grin. Did he have something to do with this cumbersome feeling? The wound on his arm was aching.

“You were always too trusting.” But that wasn’t true, he had only given the benefit of a doubt and even that with more doubt than was polite to admit. He gripped his weapons tightly, head swimming and sight starting to blur. VanCleef sheathed his daggers and took a coil of rope from the saddle horn, keeping an eye on his swaying opponent. His feet feeling heavy as lead there wasn’t much Mathias could do but observe as the lasso wound around his torso and arms, making him drop his daggers when it was pulled tight. 

“...Why?” he managed.

“This, my old friend, is for abandoning me when I needed support the most.”

“But... I did not… you know I… care for you...” His tongue felt like it was asleep, slow and clumsy in his mouth. His mind was getting all pleasant and relaxed, caring little about the danger of the situation, starting to roam in territories normally forbidden and hidden. Edwin dragged him to the trunk faintly resembling a dead tree, pushed his back against it and started walking around with the rope, tying him as he went.

“Well, you weren’t there showing your affection or defending me when I was practically sentenced to death. I know they listen to you, spy boss in the making.”

“What poison… is this... Eddie?” He tried to focus but his eyes closed by themselves, the queer sensation guiding him towards the newfound – or finally addressed – tempting impulses. VanCleef’s deep, gravelly voice sounded utterly erotic in his ears and soon colorful, obscene patterns started forming in front of his mind’s eye. 

“For a state trained assassin you are pathetically unaware of some easily available substances. You’ve seen the round cacti around here? Well, their juice will take your subconscious on a well earned holiday.” He came to a halt in front of his captive. When he tied the rope end his hands bumped into something not entirely unexpected. He laughed dryly.

“You little deviant, still inclined this way?” He pressed his palm on the bulge making Mathias moan uninhibitedly. The psychedelic figures danced under his eyelids, orgies of unrecognizable genitalia and also, for some reason, flowers. It was magnificent. 

VanCleef frowned but his hand continued squeezing Shaw while he mulled over the situation. The gullible fool would be dead behaving like this and wouldn’t even see who killed him. The toxin had been a bit too unpredictable and stronger than he’d thought. He had intended this to be humiliating but the sheriff was far gone into bliss, breathing erratically, wanton little sounds of pleasure dropping from his lips, eyes closed. He would be mortified later but at the moment he seemed to enjoy himself a bit too much for this to work as any kind of revenge.

”Eddie –”

_Oh, to hell with it._

Glancing around the desert to make sure they were alone VanCleef pulled the laces of Shaw’s pants open and snuck his hand in, remembering clear as day everything they had done that one time in their adolescence. When his fingers wrapped around the rock hard length the tied up man yelped, pent-up need in his voice. Edwin felt himself swell too but he ignored it. _It’s just the mood catching._ Slowly he moved his grip along the shaft, very similar to his. He knew how to get him off in seconds.

“Eddie… Eddie… by the Light–” Shaw was panting, and when he opened his delirious eyes his old friend was there, an inch off his face, green eyes dark and stormy. 

_“I said–”_ and he quickened his pace, pressing their noses together, _“do not call me that.”_


	7. Bloodwatcher Point

Nathanos rode through the desert, urging his skeletal horse to speed up even when he wasn’t going anywhere in particular. He just wanted _away,_ away from people, away from prying eyes whether they watched him or not; away from the easy, light prattle of the living, from the Sin’dorei that looked so much like Sylvanas in her youth that it made his dead heart burst in agony. He had left his sharpshooters in Bloodwatcher Point and two of them were watching Fuselight from a hideout.

The sun was setting when he saw a lone horse chewing on dry grass near the edge of a vast red plain. He dismounted, approached it slowly, keeping himself downwind and in the lengthening shadows until he could grab the reins. The mare neighed and jumped in panic smelling the death in the ranger, but his grip held easily. Using the soothing abilities of Shadow magic he got the beast to behave. He was good with animals, even in undeath.

An unmistakably human groan alerted him to check the area behind the horse. There was a man lying on the sand his hands tied behind his back. Nathanos walked to him both horses in tow.

_Oh, it’s the tenderfoot sheriff._

Mathias Shaw had been awake and somewhat lucid for the past two hours. The sun had blazed on him mercilessly and he had been unable to get his hands free despite his efforts. Edwin had been very thorough with the knots and he was still under the influence of the drug that made his perception all wonky. He was so very tired, thirsty, exhausted mentally and spiritually that he just lay there face down for long intervals without even trying to free himself anymore.

What he remembered made him groan internally and with different undertones than the muscle strain did. Yes, he had exposed himself and his deepest, most shameful feelings to his old friend without a care in the world. It had felt wonderful, he now admitted to himself. He was so tired he let go of all the usual restraints and inhibitions – he was alone, probably would die of dehydration if he lost consciousness again, so what did it matter to finally confess the nature of his feelings towards Edwin? The stonemason had been rough and scornful, sure, but Shaw had enjoyed his touch and closeness nonetheless – even liked the roughness if he was honest. He felt the psychedelic substance hadn’t altered his subconscious much, just embellished its free gallop with weird imagery.

And for some reason he was still – or again – hard, stiff cock trapped between his body and the ground, the leather of his pants chafing when he moved. VanCleef had let him release, made him cry out his name in the middle of the hopefully uninhabited Dustbowl, but after that the stonemason had continued his apparent need for revenge. Shaw wondered if the harshness of it was due to some emotion their albeit short and graceless moment of intimacy had roused in the renegade. He’d tied him behind his horse and forced him to run until he collapsed, leaving him here.

He felt feverish. Someone nudged him in the ribs with a boot.

“Hey, Stormwind. This your horse?” The deep, gravelly voice belonged to the outlaw they had chased. Shaw tried to turn but saw only the hem of a dark coat and crocolisk leather boots with spurs in them.

“Probably – I’m missing one. Can’t really see.”

“How did you end up in this bind then? You and your trigger-happy stonemason seemed tight. Or am I actually interrupting a vital part of your courtship?”

Shaw tried to ignore the nasty tone and the implications that in some minor respects weren’t off at all. “Any chance of you — untying my hands? My fingers are – numb.”

“You get used to it.”

“I’m not dead yet and – would prefer to avoid it – no offence.” Speaking was still difficult with his head this hazy. To his relief he felt cold fingers on his wrists and soon his hands were free. He tried to get up but his legs gave way as soon as he did and he collapsed on his knees. Blood rushed out of his head but into his arms. The violent tingle of nerves forced him to shake them repeatedly.

“Thank you,” he uttered, a well-behaved city dweller that he was, right before everything went black again.

The sound of a harmonica playing a lamenting funeral song mingled with glimpses of a cave roof above him and the blurry memories of the encounter with Edwin. 

_“Yes, he left you, you’ve said that already,”_ grunted the voice of the dark ranger from what felt like far away. Maybe he was dreaming it? Soon the sad melody continued, lulling him into a dreamy half-conscious state. 

The ranger was not that far from where he lay. He was sitting cross-legged on the cave ground nearby leaning his back on the rocky wall. He wasn’t sure why he had bothered to save the young sheriff. Perhaps his grief had made his heart go soft, or perhaps he thought he could benefit from this somehow. Maybe he had just needed a distraction. He’d made the man drink some water and a bit of a herbal infusion that should lower his fever in a couple of hours. Nathanos still knew all the basic survival tricks even if he in his current, terminal state needed only a fraction of them. He had a habit of carrying fresh water with him, it might be of use even if he himself didn’t need it.

He played the _Lament_ again and again, slowly, without any hurry to go anywhere or to get to the end of the song. Sylvanas was gone. The Sin’dorei as a people would thrive, the Forsaken might endure if they were careful and cunning enough, but he wanted no part in any of it anymore. He glanced at the delirious man lying on the blanket. He was more restful now but he still kept mumbling the name _Eddie._ Rather a tempestuous affair if it involved ditching the other into the desert drugged and pants smudgy with semen.

He snorted with scorn, as his habit was, at human emotions and the carnality of it all. Yet the enduring erection very visible through the unconscious man’s leather breeches made him recall some of those emotions, certainly not for the first time, but now tinted with the loss of his lover, leader, sister, soul mate, whatever you would call the only being in the world that had mattered to him at all. In life they had been intimate with Sylvanas and he did remember it – as one remembers a story told in childhood. 

_"Please–”_ mumbled the sheriff. Oh, for fuck’s sake, does he need a nurse now? Nathanos stood up and crouched beside the patient, placing his cold hand on his hot feverish forehead. _This should help._ And it did, after a moment Shaw sighed so happily it made the undead chuckle. He wasn’t used to his touch being welcomed like this. Usually when he was this close to a living being it was a few seconds before he snuffed that life out of them. 

He was curious now. The way the redhead was twitching and moaning wasn’t because of the fever anymore. He switched hands when the body heat started to warm him, the renewed coolness inspiring another sigh of relief from the sheriff. Soon he opened his eyes and tried to focus on Nathanos’ pale bearded face and flaming red eyes. 

“Horde,” he managed.

“Not anymore I’m not.”

“Oh.” He hesitated, calculating his odds. “Why did you save me?”

He answered with a shrug. “What kind of drug put you in this state?” His meaningful glance towards Shaw’s crotch made the human close his eyes in embarrassment. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t care what or who you do. Human taboos are all the same to me.”

“Local cactus, I believe,” he mumbled. For Edwin to resort to such methods still stung, but in hindsight it shouldn’t have surprised him.

“Oh, that’ll do it. Need a hand?” The same whim that had made him help the human was carrying the dark ranger into interesting waters. What he was offering almost counted as an act of tenderness. Was this some kind of _farewell to life_ before going North to his almost certain second death?

“What?” Mathias furrowed his brows, staring at Nathanos suspiciously. Apparently these crude men wanted to test his masculinity again and again. He wished he could get back to civilization soon – if he survived this assignment and its unofficial side quests.

“Your boner. It’s been up since I found you yesterday. Quite uncomfortable if I remember correctly. Close your eyes and think of whoever you fancy, I’ll get you off. You can’t function like this and I have a task for you later.”

Without much ceremony he pushed his chilly hand into Shaw’s breeches. The sheriff grunted, grabbing his wrist and stopping him on instinct. It was mortifying to realize the ranger was right though – he was too weak to take care of it himself. Nathanos raised a single brow, looking almost amused.

“You need this, no?”

“...Fuck.” Shaw flumped back on the blanket and gave in, nodding curtly.

“You’re still under the drug’s influence. Use that as an excuse if you need one and we’ll never mention this again.” For all his posturing Nathanos was intrigued now, living through this random Alliance guy, like a conduit for his animated corpse to feel something. Farewell party to life indeed. With fireworks.

“You aren’t exactly my type,” Mathias tried to joke but the last word was cut into a moan when Nathanos squeezed him. Damn, he was still ridiculously sensitive. What he really needed was a long hug – like, two nights long – but there was a limit to what a man could admit to another. And what he had said wasn’t exactly true – had the ranger been a living person Shaw would probably fancy him. There was something about the dark, sullen types that made him tick, his recently emancipated mind now embracing this bit of information.

Preferred type or not, he had to close his eyes under the red gaze of the older man. As soon as he did, the sensations burst free enhanced by the lingering effects of the toxin, now only mild and pleasant. It didn’t matter that the hand stroking him was cold and calloused, and when he felt the other cold hand enclose gently around his sack he came with a deep broken moan.

Everything was getting clearer somehow.


	8. Uldaman

Sweat running down his temples the young Stormwind sheriff Mathias Shaw tried to keep up with the dark ranger’s pace. They had been riding for hours in the intolerable heat that didn’t seem to affect the undead at all. Or if it did, it was pleasant for him, like the whiskey he seemed to consume as his only nourishment. Fortunately Shaw’s horse had found something to chew on and was well rested by the time he was recovered enough from the poison to mount up. He just wished he hadn’t emptied his hip flask already. He was terribly thirsty.

Nathanos had nursed him well, hunted some meat for him to eat and found more water somehow while he had slept. He tried not to think about the other manner of his nursing and concentrated on keeping up with the skeletal horse. 

At least the time in the cave had gotten him used to the undead’s dreadful aura. He was more resilient to it now. He shrugged off the thought of this possibly being something to worry about.

They were heading north through the Badlands desert to these Titan ruins called Uldaman. The Forsaken man had been uncharacteristically chatty in their hideout when Mathias had eventually dared to ask him about this mission he was supposed to tag along. His small talk needed some polishing but it was still better than nonexistent which was the case with his imposing companion.

“What’s that song you keep playing?”

The ranger had looked even more sombre than was his resting countenance and answered after a silent moment. “It’s a funeral lament for the highborne who fell at Quel’Thalas. I play it for my queen who died by the hand of that monster, Arthas. I will play it until I get my revenge.” 

_Maybe he isn’t pure evil after all,_ Mathias thought. “Who is he?”

“Nevermind that, he’s not on this continent anymore. I will go after him and you will help me in my endeavour.”

“What? How?” A shudder had gone through him, a feeling of empathy but also fear of never seeing Stormwind again. But the thinly hidden sadness on the dark ranger’s face had kept him from protesting outright.

“My scouts finally eavesdropped the information I wanted from that drunken gobbo. There’s an item I need to get from the ruins up north, not too far from here. Rather than killing off every digging Ironforge dwarf I come across with, especially nearing the border to Loch Modan, it would speed up the journey to have their ally sheriff pacifying their hostility towards me.”

Shaw exhaled in relief. He knew he couldn’t beat the undead in a fight - especially since he only had his daggers now, Edwin must have taken his guns - and being dragged to Northrend against his wishes wasn’t his idea of a life well spent. Although, in this merciless sun, he would appreciate the touch of cold wind right about now. 

They had encountered a couple of Explorers’ League parties and he had managed to talk them to ignore the looming dark undead by his side and let them pass. 

“I had your name carved on a bullet already but you seem to be useful after all,” Nathanos had grunted.

Finally in the afternoon they arrived at the site. The unearthed Titan structures outside a cave-like entrance were swarming with dwarves that didn’t seem to be affiliated with the Three Hammers. They attacked both of them on sight and the two men fought their way to the door until the diggers realized how deadly Nathanos’ shots were and fled. Shaw spied some magic in the flying bullets, a purplish dark aura that surrounded the targets just before they collapsed. The shadowcasters were a bit more resilient but in the end, after they’d killed about a dozen - and that was more than Shaw had done in a year - they were left to walk in peace through the crudely dug tunnels. Nathanos tossed him a couple of water bottles taken from the fresh corpses.

“You don’t need any?” he asked, guessing the question was pointless.

“Do I look like I’m alive?”

“Your imitation of a real person fools me from time to time.”

“Should I just kill you? I’m sure it would only improve your character.”

“Did it do that to you?”

When the low, narrow brick-red path finally opened to a hall covered from floor to ceiling with ancient marble tiles and pillars Shaw didn’t suppress his gasp of astonishment. He could imagine what it had looked like in its prime day and even in ruins the pictures on the wall were a marvel.

“History lessons later. We need to move fast before the powers buried here stir from slumber.”

The temperature was pleasantly cool here. The further they proceeded the less there were any other living beings. Troggs fled their sight after they easily killed the first one who was stupid enough to think them an easy prey. _What are they doing here at all?_ Shaw wondered. Was this their old home that the archaeologists and robbers had invaded in search of riches or knowledge? They were all Titanmade as far as he knew about the legend beyond ancient history - dwarves, troggs and humans alike. But the Makers had abandoned these places ages ago. 

When they stepped into yet another beautiful green tiled room he had to consider his last thought again. Nathanos grunted a warning as two huge stone golems guarding tall decorated doors started to tremble and came to life at the far end of the room. Had something in their entrance triggered them? 

“Damn, the old security systems are still functioning. How good a shot are you?” Like testing whether the human was paying attention or not he casually tossed his other gun to Shaw who caught it with honed reflexes.

“Good enough, but no bullet will stop those even if I don’t miss.” He checked that the revolver was fully loaded.

“I’ll keep them busy while you shoot that hanging block up there until it’s about to fall. Remember what I did to you and your boyfriend at Fuselight?” A grin flashing on his pale face the ranger aimed and shot both stone guardians right in the middle of their assumed head making them turn towards him with programmed determination. “Shout when ready.” 

Having no time to reply with venom Mathias ran in range of the pillar and did as instructed, counting the bullets carefully so he wouldn’t use all six. The boulder was so weakly attached to the broken column it took only three precisely aimed shots to get it to budge threateningly to the edge. The undead was kiting the slow but unstoppable stone men after him around the room.

_“Now!”_

Nathanos dashed from where he had been to his side with inhuman speed. His route took him right past the column and the animated guardians followed into their trap. The ranger turned so fast his feet had barely touched ground and shot at the boulder dropping it on them. After the loud crash the golems didn’t move anymore.

“You follow instructions well, Stormwind. No wonder the stonemason fancies you.”

“Can you stop talking nonsense and get this over with?”

“My target should be behind those doors.”

“Is it another golem?”

“I think so. A big one. But before we go knocking we need to plant explosives on these pillars. And by ‘we’ I mean you.” The dark ranger fished two sets of dynamite from the seemingly bottomless pockets of his leather jacket and handed them over to Shaw.

“You were _running around_ with those on you?!”

“There are two types of people, sheriff. Those who die from bombs and those who are already lifeless. Get to work, we can’t be sure Archaedas didn’t already activate from the noise.” Shaw rolled his eyes and shook his head but saw no reason to object the plan. He watched as the “Demon Eyes” went to examine the doorway.

“I can pick the lock if you ask nicely.”

“I’m afraid your skills are wasted here. It’s sealed with magic.”

Calculating the angles so the marble pillars would fall on top of each other consecutively at a clear spot diagonally in front of them Mathias tied the dynamite bundles in place, wired them and hid behind a stone altar. Nathanos nodded and pushed the huge doors open with inhuman strength, breaking the seal with some unknown Shadow spell. The sheriff, even in the adrenaline rush, or maybe because of it, felt an unwelcome shudder of arousal watching the dark bearded man with red eyes take aim and shoot something in the next room without any hesitation. Small pink flowers started dancing in front of Shaw’s vision. 

“Fuck.” The drug was making a comeback at the least favorable moment.

 _“The fuse! Now!”_ Nathanos barked, leaping backwards to lure the target to the X mark.

Shaw’s hands felt clumsy as the fading hallucinations distracted him but he managed to strike a spark of fire eventually. The fuse burned fast but it was some seconds too late. A huge Titanforged watcher with a hammer as big as a grown man in its grip trudged into the room, making the walls tremble and small rocks start to fall down. It had already passed the spot where it should have met its end, closing in on Nathanos. Shaw jumped out from his hiding and shot all remaining bullets at the golem’s back. It turned around and took the needed two steps back, now following the human with its eternal, deadly determination to guard the chamber. 

_“Idiot! Take cover!”_ yelled the ranger who wisely disappeared through the doors to the tunnel even after boasting of being bombproof. Shaw dived into the room where the ancient stone watcher had appeared from, took a left and closed his eyes and ears.

The explosion and the rumble of broken stone afterwards was deafening nonetheless. He barely heard his pale companion from the other room through the ringing of his ears.

_“You are not completely useless for a human.”_

The redheaded man crawled back to the doorway and peeked in to see the damage. Their trap had worked perfectly. Nathanos was already standing on the pile of stone on stone, yanking something off the deactivated and dismantled watcher’s neck. 

“There’s a cute stone ring on it if you want something special to take back with you.”

“I don’t need anything. Are we done?”

“In and out fast, no frolicking? And people call _me_ gloomy.” He raised an amused eyebrow at Mathias’ futile attempt at hiding his annoyance. He should have arrested this man along with Edwin but the whole mission had gone sideways from the start. He felt like a leaf on a river with no means of steering, his disturbing feelings and these ruthless men around him being the river in this clumsy metaphor. He might be a soft, overly polite city assassin by their standards but he was no poet. _This will have to change. I shouldn’t let myself be bullied like a kid. Grandma would slap me about the face if she saw me now._

Nathanos pocketed the round, glowing power source he had been after along with some other baubles. He saw the look in the human’s eyes, his defiant posture, and chuckled. _I guess he has earned some respect._

“Yes, we are done here. Let’s get out.”

His back turned to the human the dark ranger smiled to himself, first time in years. He could now start his final journey. For some reason the thought made him feel light, almost but not quite like he were alive. He knew that even with all the magic items he could collect he wouldn’t be much of an opponent to the death knight. But he’d make as much damage and trouble to his business as he could before facing him. 

With luck he would be united with his love soon afterwards.


	9. Lethlor Ravine

On the way back towards the goblin town the next morning Shaw was relieved to see Nathanos finally behaving. He didn’t threaten to kill him or assume obscenities about his private life anymore. They rode in silence that could almost have been described as amiable if it weren’t for the icy aura of death intensifying around the ranger. 

Admittedly, it helped to stand the heat of the sun somewhat.

Getting closer to Fuselight the young sheriff felt a sort of foreboding, raw longing filling his chest. It was entirely possible Edwin had left already, yet his heart said he would find his old friend before he returned to Stormwind. He wanted, no, _needed_ to talk to him one last time, to get a sense of closure for this rollercoaster of emotions their reunion had aroused in him.

His three day stubble itched and he felt like a true cowboy, smelling of old sweat and probably horses. 

The undead had seemed triumphant yesterday, having acquired the missing piece of the artifact he then assembled into a glowing necklace, but ever since that moment his already dark mood seemed to be nearing suicidal levels. Resolutely suicidal. Shaw didn’t dare talk to him without a good reason and their journey back was mostly uneventful if you didn’t count the first ever black dragon he saw in the far distance when they were crossing Dustbowl.

Meanwhile in Fuselight VanCleef was drinking his second morning ale with a grim look on his scarred face. He hadn’t bothered to use the mask anymore what with the gossiping goblins already in the knowledge of his looks. If Mathias hadn’t snitched his whereabouts to the crown already then he was probably safe, for the time being. But that was the question: where was the sheriff? VanCleef had returned to the desert some hours later and hadn’t found him anywhere. There were no signs of fighting nor blood so he could at least assume the coyotes hadn’t eaten him. A sting vaguely akin to remorse mixed into his already low spirits. 

The way Shaw had moaned his name echoed in his head and as much as he tried to dismiss it, it wouldn’t leave him in peace. He had been angry and disappointed at the man and his aim had been to humiliate him but hot damn the situation had escalated into something else entirely. To his shame the whole business afterwards, dragging his friend on a rope and that, had partly been to suppress his conflicting feelings that had emerged from the intimacy of that encounter.

Contrary to what he tried to convince himself to believe it had aroused him so enormously that he couldn’t just brush it off as a whim or a passing anomaly as much as he tried. Who was he to mock his old friend of his inclinations like he had done? To hell with it all, he was as gay as Matt was. After having abandoned his king and homeland, a deviation like that wasn’t as painful to admit as it otherwise would have been. If one was to rebel then why not go all the way. 

He emptied his pint, nodded at Sally who gave him a wink, and walked out to the forenoon sunlight. VanCleef had gotten himself prepared for a possible next run-in with the undead scum. He had bought a real killer of a rifle that was hanging on his back and he was wearing a brown goblin-made woolen poncho over his other equipment. His eyes scanned the plaza and the edges of the small town when he donned his hat and lit a cigarette. 

He nearly choked on the smoke seeing the wanted ranger boldly arrive on horseback – with Mathias in tow. The goblin bruisers scattered off, none of them eager to try and collect the prize on Nathanos’ head. Edwin snatched one of the greenskins mid-run by the collar. 

“Go tell Sally I’ve got this under control. We won’t be fighting here.” 

He marched towards the two with purpose in his steps. 

“Stonemason. Ready to meet your makers?” Nathanos drawled. VanCleef ignored him staring at Shaw who seemed perplexed and would be even more once he had spoken his mind.

“So. Was he better in the sack, eh?” That sounded way more jealous than he had intended to and the undead chuckled. Shaw frowned, his new tan the only thing saving his blush from being detected. Even if it was just to mess with him Edwin’s words bore weight. It was the first time their intimacy was openly verbalised.

“Don’t cause more trouble, Eddie. Let’s just –” His friend wasn’t listening anymore.

“Don’t bother dismounting, corpse man. We are going to settle this once and for all, but not here. Let us ride down to Lethlor Ravine and draw pistols like gentlemen.”

“What’s your beef with him? This is a suicide!”

“How well you know him, Matt. That’s cute.”

“Don’t be vulgar. You’ve seen how he shoots. You don’t stand a chance. He told me he would leave quietly if–”

But VanCleef was already walking to his horse. He dropped the cigarette stump, spat on the ground and hopped on the saddle. Nathanos turned his horse towards him.

“You really need some couples’ counseling, you two.”

“Shut up. You promised to let him live.”

“Do I look like a good advocate for life and its joys? It’s on him if he challenges me.”

“Please. I will try to talk some sense into him.” They followed Edwin down the steep path towards the chosen duel site. Not long after they arrived at an arid, red-sanded plain with some rocks loosely seeming to form a circle on the southeastern side of the hill Fuselight sat on. 

“Now, Mister Marris. Firearms, no spells. Shaw can be the judge and the referee, he seems to be unable to decide between us anyway.”

“The name’s Blightcaller,” Nathanos growled stepping down from his skeleton of a horse, seething darkness like the day they had met in the bar.

“The fuck, Edwin! Stop this madness. Do I look like some damsel to you?”

The renegade reached into his leather satchel and shoved Shaw’s guns into his hands. “Now you do not. But don’t interfere. I’ll be collecting the reward for my men.” He started walking backwards hands hovering over his revolvers. 

Nathanos took something small from his breast pocket and placed it on a stone. It was a blue locket that opened as a music box and the familiar sad melody started playing. He too stepped backwards.

“You need that theme music for everything you do, Forsaken? That’s so touching!” Edwin yelled from where he had moved to, twenty paces off the starting spot.

 _“Yes, I do. Everything I do is for the Dark Lady,”_ he answered in a low, hissing whisper that only Shaw heard. He looked on helplessly as the two irredeemably stubborn and dramatic men stared at each other across the plain, waiting for the tightening string of tension to snap.

“Aim for the heart, deadman! I still have one that’s beating!” 

And so the ranger did, drawing his bone-grip revolver and firing with uncanny speed and precision. The sheriff yelped when he saw VanCleef stagger backwards from the force of it. But he stayed on his feet, reached behind his shoulder and shot a barrelful of some extremely heavy ammo with the rifle. It had such a kick that Nathanos fell straight on his back, grunting in surprise.

“That there was a real money shot, my friend,” VanCleef boasted, shooting the Blightcaller’s fallen hat after him like in a circus trick.

“How did you – how are you not dead?” Shaw realized his voice was trembling and it was slightly embarrassing, but he decided not to care. Edwin pulled his poncho aside revealing a crudely cut metal plate hung across his chest with a rope, a single bullet hole right at the level of his heart. The sheriff heard himself exhale in relief.

 _“How clever of you, stonemason,”_ a ghost-like voice behind him said and a chill of terror ran through him. Nathanos rose back to his feet, dusting off his long leather jacket thoroughly before turning his red eyes to Edwin. There were holes in his tunic but no blood anywhere. “I will forgive you this once for being bright enough to lace the bullets with Deathweed. Unfortunately I’m made of sterner stuff than even the usual undead.”

The next crucial seconds were a slow motion nightmare in Shaw’s vision. The sheriff saw Edwin lift his rifle anew. He drew both his guns and shot it off the stonemason’s hands, hurling himself against the ranger so that his pistol hand was disabled long enough for Shaw to plead.

“Stop it, both of you! Eddie, he said he forgives you. Give it a rest already. Nathanos, you gave me your word. You used the one shot that was for the duel.”

“I must have been out of my mind giving promises to a soft-hearted human. Fine. If he quits his mucking about.”

_“Edwin?”_

The dark-haired man was standing still but hands reaching towards the rifle on the ground. His green eyes flashed anger and Mathias saw the game was lost. His heart clenched when his friend dived for the weapon.

That attempt failed. Purple tendrils of smoky Shadow magic twirled around him, wrapping around his wrists and in a matter of seconds he was shackled and subdued. 

“You heard your boyfriend, stonemason. There are two types of people, you know – those who listen to reason and those who… oh, well. _Us.”_ He flicked his wrist and the magical binds forced VanCleef to stand upright, away from the rifle. The renegade grunted, his impotent rage soon dying down. He let his shoulders sag. Shaw watched him, not knowing whether to be relieved or sad.

“You were always reckless but this behaviour is outrageous.”

“I came to look for you later, you know. I never meant to leave you there for good.”

“I wonder.”

Nathanos picked up his locket, hid it in his person and headed for the pale horse. 

“Help him up his saddle, sheriff. We are going on a short trip. There’s this tomb I want you to see from the inside.”


	10. Once Upon a Time in the Eastern Kingdoms

“What are you going to do to him?”

“You’ll see soon enough, sheriff.”

They had been riding southwest for a good while after going round the hill that Fuselight sat on. Nathanos dragged VanCleef’s horse by a rope tied to the reins, carrying its Shadow-shackled, sulking rider. Shaw glanced behind his shoulder from time to time, making sure he was still there. Would he have to sacrifice himself defending his old friend if the undead didn’t have any mercy on them?

A huge digsite held by the Horde forces loomed ahead and their self-appointed party leader took them there, dismounting by a tent. A blood elf asked something and Nathanos replied, waving towards his company. 

“Get him down. They won’t attack you while you are with me, I said you’re my prisoners.” Without more explanation he detached the stonemason’s saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder.

Leading VanCleef by the rope he marched down the sandy slope into the partially unearthed Titan ruins. Shaw noticed the same architecture and style he had seen in Uldaman, but in a pristine condition. These halls had been hidden for ages only to be found now.

“Are you going to bury me here, is that it?” Edwin growled. “A bit too fancy a tomb for a simple man like me.”

 _“Don’t taunt him further. I will try to reason with him,”_ Mathias whispered. They followed the ranger through green marbled corridors eventually arriving in a small, very recently opened chamber. There was a heap of golden, jeweled vases and small stone statues in one corner, partially covered by rubble and dirt. Nathanos dropped the saddlebag on the floor and snapped his fingers. Edwin’s shackles disappeared. Shaw's hands flew on his daggers.

“No need, sheriff. You said you needed gold for your men, stonemason. Here, fill your bags. The Horde has found these but like you, I don’t care about my faction anymore. He told me about what happened with your queen and I’m not entirely unsympathetic, even if I might look like it. Go on.” He gestured towards the treasure.

“I don’t recall telling you anything about that,” Shaw wondered out loud, brows knit.

“You were not yourself, Stormwind. Some asshole had drugged you, remember? You were very talkative for hours, I nearly gagged you at one point.”

Edwin looked uncomfortable in his skin. “Sorry about that, Matt. It was... a miscalculation.” He inspected the ranger suspiciously. “Are you saying you don’t want this gold?”

“I have enough to last for the rest of my existence.” His tone implied the amount wasn’t huge and that chilled Shaw’s heart. The ranger was about to do something very final but then again, it was none of his business. 

“Get moving! We have to get out of here soon. My excuse to bring you two in here was feeble at best.”

Finally VanCleef stopped doubting and stuffed as many of the jewelled items into the bags as he could. 

“Thank you. I don’t understand why you are doing this but what the hell. Gift horse and all that.”

“I got what I came here for. We are both forsaken by our leaders and we are both free of the faction binds. That’s enough for me. Killing you would give me nothing but a fleeting pleasure of spilling blood. I’m saving my bullets for my one true enemy from now on.” 

“To be honest, at first I thought you deserved nothing but to be put in chains, Demon Eyes. But now I think you might even have a heart,” Shaw braved, flashing a grin. Nathanos shrugged.

“I have a dead heart that beats to a dead queen. Are you done? Let’s go.”

They got out of the tomb avoiding the Horde encampment. Nathanos retrieved their horses and mounted his, tipping his hat to them. “It has been a delightful distraction but now I really must be going, Northrend awaits. I doubt we’ll ever meet again. Have a meaningful life and for fuck’s sake, get a room already.” He tossed something to Shaw and galloped away leaving the two assassins standing there in awkward silence.

Mathias opened his palm and huffed, but he was more amused than anything else. It was the stone ring from Archaedas.

“Well, I guess that’s it. I really need a bath before I leave this place. Wanna share one last drink, Eddie?” His newfound determination and self-knowledge still let a tinge of nervousness slip into his voice. VanCleef glanced at him sideways.

“You offering a ceasefire?” He fished a bent cigarette from his pockets and lit it.

“I’m calling it. Let’s head to Fuselight, you are their hero now.” 

He nodded in agreement. _For old times’ sake._ Shaw hopped on his mare and started off, hoping his friend would follow – he didn’t have any obligation or reason to, and he might just decide to vanish now that he had the fortune he had been after.

When he dismounted at the goblin town and saw Edwin riding in not far behind he smiled in the shade of his hat and marched to the inn to take that bath.

In the sheriff’s rented room Edwin was sitting on a chair and smoking when Mathias returned, fresh and shaven, only wearing a towel around his hips. The renegade watched him, seeing he wasn’t ashamed anymore, that he knew what he wanted and was wordlessly asking him. The tension in the room had been on the rise already when they got there but now even Edwin couldn’t deny it. He chuckled, stumped the cigarette and stood up, facing the other man.

“Yeah. I remember our youthful dalliance very well. But then you got married.”

“Some things feel inevitable if you don’t know any other way. I do now.”

“I’m going to leave and you won’t stop me.” He stared at Shaw defiantly. The sheriff stepped in front of him, into his space. His voice was low, hinting at some emotion that was still held at bay.

“I know. Don’t leave yet.”

Keeping his gaze Edwin put his hat on the table, opened his bandolier and put it beside it. The belt with guns in the holsters followed.

“Fine. But like I said, even this won’t –” He was interrupted by Mathias’ strong hands on the back of his neck and his lips pressed on his. The flame that was rekindled a few days ago roared up and he opened his lips, kissing him back with all the ardor of a frustrated, lonely, betrayed man experiencing tenderness for the first time in a long while.

And that was the whole bloody problem of it – a roll in the hay wouldn’t solve the issue of their feelings for each other. But a roll in the hay was the only thing they could afford in this life.

They kissed and kissed, hands grabbing at the other’s arms and hair, first harshly, then daring to let go of the masculine toughness, daring to caress and hold. They had revealed enough already, keeping a mask on was useless now. The moment grew into an eternity, for every fraction of a second was filled with meaning, their emotions building a bridge from their youth to this moment, their intimacy like a lifelong relationship.

It was almost too much for VanCleef. He broke the kiss and tried to shake off the spell of this terrifying closeness. He pulled the towel off Shaw’s hips unveiling an erection as hard as his own. The young sheriff of Stormwind started undressing the wanted man who was most likely the founder of that Defias gang he would be ordered to vanquish upon his return. He pushed Edwin’s pants down – several hidden blades clattered to the floor – and dressed only in his half open linen shirt, hair tousled, he looked like a teenager woken up from a nap. Their old playful rivalry sparked between them and after a messy, noisy, sweaty and furniture-damaging wrestle Shaw had him pinned on the bed.

He sat astride the dark man’s hips, their swollen shafts aligning, the skin contact sending ripples of pleasure through both of them. Their faces were flushed, green eyes darkened. They struggled Edwin’s shirt off and Shaw leaned to pick something up from his pocket belt on the nightstand. “See, _my_ choice of medicine doesn’t afflict the mind,” he grinned.

“How many times do I have to hear your – _ohh!”_

The standard issue wound salve made Shaw’s grip on Edwin’s length slide wonderfully and he stared at the sheriff, mouth open for his pulse was becoming so rapid he had to take very deep breaths not to pant. Mathias also knew how to get him off in seconds – but he didn’t, he was taking it excruciatingly slowly. There was something new in him as well, the way he carried himself and didn’t seem to show any signs of shame anymore, a sort of strength of spirit and almost a commanding air about him. VanCleef found himself fascinated by it. _Well, what do you know. He has become a man._

Shaw leaned forward, their foreheads touching as they watched how he took both of the cocks in his slick hand, pressing them together, sliding his grip down their length. Their heavy breathing synchronized spontaneously with the movement, their hips thrusting erratically into the grasp and against each other.

_“Oh, fuck, Matt –”_

_“Yeah…”_

Oh, what could have been if they weren’t on opposing sides of a conflict.

When they came, within seconds of each other, it was the most blissful thing either of them had ever felt. Edwin pulled Mathias in a kiss that told him everything he was never going to say.

  
  
  


****

  
  
  


Stormwind was in panic. King Varian had vanished mysteriously, there was a rumor about an army of the dead marching south from Lordaeron and the name of the likewise missing crown prince of that kingdom sounded familiar to the young sheriff. Upon his arrival Mathias Shaw was appointed to lead an intelligence organization whose first tasks were to find out more about the Defias activity in Westfall and whether they had anything to do with the king’s disappearance. 

_Oh, Eddie, did you really?_

No-one asked about his mission to Badlands, it was like he never went there. 

Their farewell had been brief. VanCleef had hardened his heart as soon as they were clothed again and sitting on his horse he had merely nodded. His last words rang in the Spymaster’s head, never to be forgotten.

_“Next time we meet I’ll kill you, old friend.”_

He shrugged the thought away and straightened his posture. He too had to steel himself. There was work to be done.


End file.
